


The Cause

by shawskankredemption



Series: Don't Let It Spoil You [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:33:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shawskankredemption/pseuds/shawskankredemption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt’s not sure why he considered Hermann’s smile a personal victory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cause

He doesn’t need a lot of sleep. He can pass by with four or five hours. There’s a notepad on his bedside table, in case he needs to scratch down brilliance in the middle of the night.   
Newt Geiszler is a little bit manic, he knows that. He knows his mind sometimes ticks by like an overwrought wind-up toy. That’s why he finds himself in the lab by seven, always trying to iron out that nervous energy, his veins humming with caffeine and the music blaring.

And Hermann Gottlieb has always hated that. 

Hermann gets in at seven thirty, and Newt can have a lot done by then. He figures Hermann needs that extra half hour. It’s probably harder for him to wake up, to sit and push himself to the edge of the bed, easing the life into his aching limb. 

Newt’s not sure why he’s spent time imagining Hermann’s morning routine. 

‘Morning, Hermann.’  
‘Morning, Newton, turn that down.’  
‘Nope.’

The jump was made from Dr Gottlieb to Hermann about a month after they met. Newt remembers the day that instead of correcting him, Hermann retorted bitterly with Newton. He also remembers what looked like the shadow of a smile on Hermann’s lips when he first said it. 

Newt’s not sure why he considered this smile a personal victory.   
‘Morning Hermann, happy birthday. What’ll it be?’  
‘Morning Newton. Thankyou. Future Shock.’  
‘Never took you for a funk fan, man. Whatever floats your boat.’

He found out Hermann’s birthday the second year they worked together. Due to the constant complaints, Newt decided perfect silence in the lab would be the best present he could give him.   
But when Hermann strode in that morning, he froze, as if his routine was disrupted by this unusual kindness.   
‘Put something on, Newton.’ He had snapped, ‘Lord knows I’m accustomed to the racket now.’ 

Ever since then, Newt has let him pick the album on his birthday. Otherwise, every day, the dialogue is the same. The clack of Hermann’s cane on the concrete at precisely seven-thirty. 

‘Morning, Newton, turn that down.’  
‘Nope.’

 

There was only ever one morning when it didn’t play out as usual. And Newt’s not sure why, but he doesn’t really like to think about that morning. 

It was in August a few years before. Seven thirty am came and went. There was no clack of the cane on concrete, no haughty reprimand. Newt remembered thinking to himself that it would be good to get some peace, but by nine am, still nothing.  
It wasn’t that Newt was worried, definitely not, he was just annoyed. They had work to do. So he went in search of him. 

He found him in his quarters. Hermann was perched on his bed, eyes shut, jaw set like concrete, hands trembling. He was locked away, and it was as if the door hadn’t opened at all, as if Newton was never there. 

Newt found a soft tone he’d never used before and asked him what’s wrong, before adding ‘we’ve got a report to file’ as if to remind Hermann that he wasn’t trying to be nice.   
When Hermann answered, his voice was paper-thin.   
‘I forgot to fill my prescription. I don’t think I can walk today.’

Newt’s not sure why, but at those words, he felt as if someone had reached in and snapped one of his ribs, or planted something hard and deliberate in the middle of his chest. 

He tried to sound annoyed as he said he’d go and get the prescription but the hollowness stayed. Even after he came back from the medical wing and gave him the meds, it was still there. 

For the rest of the day, the lab felt horribly empty. Newt kept thinking of Hermann sitting there, in the dark, face twisted like that, without even the energy to say something nasty. How if Newt hadn’t checked, he might’ve stayed there all day, too proud to ask anyone for help. 

Newt didn’t breathe easy until the next morning, when he heard the cane clack on the concrete at seven thirty. 

‘Morning Hermann, how are you feeling?’  
‘Morning, Newton. Fine, thank you. Turn it down.’   
‘Nope.’

Their arguments are like sport, like a game, a logic puzzle that helps Newt see the problem from a different perspective. And Newt can’t deny that he loves those arguments. He’s not sure why, but he loves picking apart Hermann’s math from across the room to make him bristle and come down from that damn ladder to shout. He’s not sure why, but he loves the way Hermann sometimes narrows his eyes at him from across the lab when he thinks he’s not looking. He’s not sure why, but he loves the way the chalkdust settles across Hermann’s side of the lab the way kaiju remnants are strewn across his, even in Hermann’s goddamn eyelashes if you look close enough. He spends a lot of his own time convincing himself that he’s not sure, and he’ll never be sure when it comes to Hermann Gottlieb. 

Though when the hollowness in his chest sometimes rises again at ten past four in the morning, Newton Geiszler is able to quietly admit the reason.


End file.
